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And that’s the game I’ve been playing with Granger.
It’s stupid of me to run this game with my boss. I know that. But I don’t have a lot of choices these days.
Plenty of guys, but none of them with money.
If another wealthy asshole rolls along in the future, I’ll happily dump Granger’s ass and hustle the new guy for a while.
Until then, I’m stuck with who I’ve got.
As soon as we step foot inside the club, I spot Granger immediately. He knows what time I’m supposed to be here, and he looks forward to me being late. It just gives him one more thing to hang over my head while he makes me feel smaller than a speck of dirt on his boots.
Standing at the bar in his typical black on black outfit, Granger checks his watch before locking his stare on me. Chills race down my spine, my eyes closing for just a second because I know what his tight scowl means.
Brinley notices it as well.
“I told you he’d be mad.”
Her reminder doesn’t help the sudden tension in my shoulders from being targeted by Granger’s dark stare.
There’s nothing I can do but play it off.
It’s what I do best.
“He loves me,” I lie, more to myself than Brinley. “Give him five minutes tops before he’s chasing me. And then one dance and he’ll get over it. But you’re right. I should get going. Meet me upstairs for a drink later.”
Flashing her a practiced smile, I run forward to talk to Granger. His scowl doesn’t soften, not until I pout my bottom lip like I know he enjoys.
Anything to make me feel sad or upset, and this man is all over it.
That’s the problem with men like him. They need to feel superior or in charge, and they can’t do that unless their approval alters your behavior.
I know the type well and have been up against them many times. It’s easy enough to play the part and get what I need out of them, but it does nothing to soothe my shame for allowing it.
When struggling to survive, even intangible things like a woman’s pride is a valuable commodity. Especially when dealing with narcissists. I learned that hard truth when I was fourteen. A little young, in my opinion, but you do what you must to survive..
Without giving Granger time to respond, I run past him and head upstairs to get dressed in his favorite outfit. I hope that the second he spots me in my cage, he’ll forget I was late and take up his usual position guarding the stairs that lead to me.
Sometimes I think he guards my cage because he’s territorial.
Other times, I think it’s because he’s playing a game on me as well.
He knows that I make shit money here without being able to go in the back rooms like the other dancers for private shows. The less I make, the more dependent I become on him. The more dependent I am, the more he can harass me.
It’s a shitty dance for power but one I’m willing to put up with since I’m not actually interested in him. If I were, the way he treats me would cut straight to the bone.
The music is thumping the walls when I reach the second floor and hang a quick right to run down the hall leading to the back rooms. Most are used for private dances and other strange favors, while the one closest to the hall entrance is a dressing room.
Thankfully, the room is empty, the other dancers scheduled for tonight already in costume and in their assigned places. It doesn’t take me long to find a pair of tiny shorts that barely cover my ass and a metal studded bra.
On the wall hangs a large set of fake, black angel wings that Granger always saves for me. He loses his shit if any other girl touches them on the nights I work. I’m beginning to believe those wings are some kind of weird fetish of his.
“I’m taking you home tonight, right?”
Fuck…
I’m in the middle of clasping my bra in place when I turn to look at Granger.
He leans back against the door and stares me down with dark eyes that always appear threatening. Even his current stance is a threat. Almost as if it’s his intent to keep me trapped in here until he decides it’s time for me to leave.
